Part 2
Part 1 can be found [here]
…………………………………………………………………………
--catalyst
JC’s sitting on the porch in an old wicker chair
as the sky mellows into dusky pinks and purples, the soft hum of evening
insects thick in the air. He leans back, flicks open the top buttons on his
shirt, runs a hand through hair damp with sweat. Tonight is going to be nasty-hot,
Lance has told him, inescapable.
Tonight, JC has a date with the bathtub and some
buckets of ice.
Chris called him earlier, said his flight would
get in at about 6 pm. JC gave him directions to the ranch, too hot to be
bothered to drive to the airport. Chris should be here soon.
JC is counting down the minutes.
Lance approaches him, the wood of the porch
floor groaning under his feet. His hair is slicked back from his face, shirt
tied around his waist. His cheeks are flushed. There’s dirt smattered up one
side of his body.
He grins at JC lopsidedly. “Had trouble gettin’
the horses in,” he says, drawl muted by lack of breath. “Ah.” JC responds.
Then, “My friend Chris is coming over tonight, for a day or two. That OK?” And
Lance nods, clutches his side, tries to steady his breathing, “Yhea, that’s
al’right. I’ll tell the others.”
After a few seconds, Lance straightens up,
unties his shirt from around his waist and drags it over clammy skin. He walks
over to JC, sits down in the chair next to him, the soft scrunch of strained
rattan. He braces his hands on his knees, opens his mouth, closes it. Opens it
again, “Look, Josh, I dunno if this is any of my business but, uh, you an’
J—what’s goin’ on there?”
“Um, nothing.” Lance raises an eyebrow, “Din’t
look like that from where I was standin’”
“Uh—uh,” JC racks his mind for an explanation.
He gives up, settles for, “yeah, well after that, nothing happened. I
told Justin I had a girlfriend and that I—I wasn’t interested.”
Lance muses over this for a while, “You do
realize that ain’t gonna stop him? He’s dead-set on you. You had him riled up
pretty good last night, mind. Just—“ he leans in closer, and the tone of his
voice hardens a little, “—don’ mess him aroun’, Josh, I’m tellin’ you. ‘Cause
it looks to me one minute like y’all are getting’ along fine, havin’ a good
time an’ then he’s fuckin’ furious sayin’ you led him on an’ you’re such
a cocktease an’ shit. I mean it wasn’t pretty. An’ though I’m inclined to take
your side, knowin’ what he’s like an’ all—I mean hypocritical just ain’t even
the half of it—but he’s also a good friend of mine an’ I wouldn’t like
to think he was bein’ taken advantage of or sump’m.”
JC feels cold shards of metal shiver down his
spine, because, um, what? He would take advantage of Justin?
He looks at Lance, at the hard set of his face,
says firmly, “God, no. I would never do anything to hurt Justin. It was my
fault entirely. I just made stupid a mistake. It won’t happen again.” He stares
down at his hands.
Lance’s face softens into a smile, though JC
thinks there still might be just a trace of steel in his eyes, “Yhea—OK.
I believe you.” he leans in conspiratorially, and no, his eyes are smiling now,
“I do kinda admire you, havin’ the strength to say no. Not many people—no,
scratch that—no one has rejected him before. You gave us all a damn good
laugh las’ night, witnessin’ boy-wonder’s li’l hissy fit.”
And he laughs, “Look, Josh, I think you’re a
decent guy an’ you’re sure as hell not dumb. If I were you I’d just let him
alone for a while—don’t go lookin’ for trouble. It dun’t help that you’re
pretty, an’ you’re stayin’ here for a while—an’ I got this feelin’ J’s far from
givin’ up on you. Jus’ ignore him. Don’t give him reason to be more obnoxious
than he al’ready is.”
JC laughs, relieved, thinks maybe Lance might
even be on his side. Which is great. More than great. Fighting Justin
isn’t something he thinks he can do alone, “Right, yeah. Of course. Don’t
encourage him. Got it.” He smiles at Lance gratefully.
And Lance nods, places a hand on JC’s shoulder,
“You’re a good guy, Josh, an’ deep down so is J. I jus’ don’t want to see
either of y’all get hurt.” He gets up, puts his shirt on, smiles at JC, “See ya
‘round.”
He watches Lance’s retreating figure smudge into
the half-light, feels a little guilt flicker in his chest, because he really
has to call Tara, a thought that hasn’t occurred to him nearly as often as he
supposes it should.
But, as happens a lot recently, JC’s mind drifts
back to Justin instead. It’s just—he’s drawn to Justin, helplessly. He makes JC
think of summer, and lemonade and his childhood spent playing out in the sun.
And JC can admit that it’s kinda nice to be around someone who hasn’t grown old
and cynical in the city, someone who hasn’t had their eyes clouded with
high-rise buildings and traffic fumes and can still appreciate beauty in things
that don’t glitter. He closes his eyes, slings an arm behind his head, and
relaxes back into the chair.
He groans inwardly when he sees Justin approach.
Justin catches his eye and automatically JC’s
breath hitches. He looks away. Justin appears to be furiously ignoring him,
since this afternoon’s meeting at the lake, which is—good.
But then he stops and turns to look at JC. And
JC feels his body glow because he’s just standing there, shirtless, breathing
heavily, his slick golden skin dusted with dirt and flushed from heat and
exercise.
JC forces what he hopes is a careless smile.
Justin smiles back, lazily sexy, curled up at one side. He runs a hand over his
face, through his hair, “Hot, huh?” he says through a grin, words trickling
past his lips and JC replies, “Yeah,” hoping they’re talking about the weather.
Justin slings his shirt over his shoulder,
grins, “See ya later, Joshua,” and walks away into the fuzzy light.
JC slumps back into the chair, closes his eyes.
He sits back up, peels cotton off his chest and slumps back down again,
discarding the sticky t-shirt in a heap on the floor.
…………………………………………………………………………
--meltdown
Chris arrives just as the sky begins to fleck
with stars. He gets out of the taxi, stuffs a wad of bills into the drivers
hand, hauls his luggage out of the door and walks over to JC, grinning as the
dust from the retreating car huffs over his bag.
JC gets up, goes over to meet him, pulls him
into a hug and whispers emphatically, “I’m so fucking glad you’re here.”
Chris breaks apart, holds JC at arm’s distance,
whistles, eyebrows raised, “Looking good, Chasez,” he says admiringly, “ranching
definitely becomes you.” JC grins, shrugs, “Whatever, pervert. Come on, let’s
get your stuff inside.”
They walk up to one of the empty rooms, along
the same passageway as JC’s, and dump Chris’ sports bag on the floor with a whump.
“I’m so fucking hot,” Chris expels, stripping off his jacket, “how do
you manage? Tell me there’s air-con.” JC laughs, “Nope, there’s none o’ that
here down in ol’ Tennessee.”
“Fuck. How do you expect me to survive? I’m a
city boy! I’ve never experienced a climate I couldn’t in some way control.”
“Well now’s your chance.”
“Great. Yeah, fucking great. Remind me
again why I came?”
“Because you’re a wonderful friend?” JC
suggests, hopefully.
Chris grunts.
JC sighs, “OK—I said there was a hot girl.”
“Hmm. Sounds more like it.” He yawns, stretches,
“And I want to meet this infamous ‘Justin’.”
JC groans, “You’ll meet him soon enough, I have
no doubt.”
--
Chris changes into clean clothes and they go
downstairs, back to the porch, discussing things to do and how long Chris’ll
stay. It’s cooler outside than in; the heat seems to have condensed in the dark
rooms, no longer hollow, filled with thick indigo.
JC stares out at the sky, now inked black with
sparks of glitter, hears the trilled buzz of night flies and crickets. He sighs
contentedly. The temperature has dropped a little, but it’s still too hot to do
anything. Listless heat.
The jogged glow of a flashlight jumps in the
distance. Lance, probably. Or Justin, back from the stables.
“So, how’re you getting on here, C, really?”
Chris asks, staring out into the night.
JC considers this, glances up at the black beard
of bugs swarming around the porch light, “I like it. It’s relaxing,” he
corrects himself, “well, mostly. Quite quiet.”
Chris looks askance at him, “Yeah? You get on
with the other guys?”
JC shrugs, “They’re really nice people, just. We
don’t have a lot to talk about I guess.”
Chris laughs, “Not the sharpest knives in the
drawer, huh?”
JC frowns, “No,” he glances at Chris, “no, not
at all. Don’t say things like that. We’re just—very different.”
“And Justin?” Chris meets his gaze, one eyebrow
raised.
JC sighs, “God, Chris, I don’t have a clue. I
mean I hardly even know the guy. I’m pretty sure he hates me. We didn’t exactly
get off on the right foot.”
Chris opens his mouth but JC quickly cuts him
off, narrows his eyes, “No. Shut up. I can see the ‘humour’ cogs turning in
your brain, rusty as they are, so I’m telling you, don’t even think about it.”
Chris raises his hands in mock affront, “Whoa,
jumping the gun much, C? What makes you think—” JC groans loudly, tunes him
out.
They go to bed early, drained of energy by the
syrupy night.
--
JC wakes up on muggy sheets, covers entwined
with his legs. He stares up at the blue dark, light of the moon casting strange,
watery shadows on the walls.
He sits up, looks over to his open window. The
loose curtains hang eerily still, motionless in the heavy air. He hears the
dull hum of voices outside, freezes, tries to hear what they’re saying. He gets
up, creeps silently over to the source of the sound,
“-you do here Justin?”
Justin laughs, a gentle purr, “I’m the
supervisor. Oversee the horses, range about a bit, check no one’s poachin’ or
whatever. I get to boss the others aroun’ every now an’ then.”
The other person laughs and JC realises with
slow horror that it’s Chris. With Justin. Laughing with Justin. And no,
that surge in his gut is not jealousy. No it’s not.
“—yhea, JC’s buddy, Lance tol’ me. You an’ him
ol’ friends, then?”
“Well, he met me when he moved to the city, when
he was just a naïve little country boy—”
Justin cuts in, “Nuh-uh, I could show you a
thing or two ‘bout naïve, Mr. Big City.”
Chris laughs, “I bet you could.” There’s
a pause, “You like JC?”
“I guess. He’s hot. But yhea, he got issues ‘n
shit,” JC can hear Justin grin, “he was practic’ly beggin’ for it. Then
the mood got killed or sump’m and he goes all guilt-trippin’ on me.”
Chris laughs, low and silken, “Hmm, he obviously
doesn’t know what’s good for him. JC, he’s a little—how shall I say this?—frustrated.”
“Yhea? His girl not give it up often?”
“Nope. For all she acts like a slut she puts out
like fucking once a year.”
And JC feels his fist clench, thinks about going
down there and just punching Chris square in the face ‘cause he’s acting like a
fucking shitty friend right now and JC knows he’s doing it to impress Justin,
in his own screwed-up way.
JC hopes Justin has better sense—better taste
than to respond. The lesser of two evils, JC supposes. Because Chris, for all
he’s funny and friendly, is clever and sneaky and devious when he wants to be.
And Justin—well, he’s certainly no match for an attorney who’s spent his whole
life in the city having to outwit and manipulate if he wants to succeed.
There’s a long, low laugh. JC feels his face
pall, thick dread of tar seeping into his gut. He scrambles away from the
window. There’s silence, JC strains his ears, thinks maybe he hears the soft
rustle of fabric. He’s sure his blood has frozen, stays rooted to the spot in
silent horror as he hears a low moan—Chris’—soak up through the air.
But JC has to know, he has to see, to make sure.
He treads, cat-paw light, over to the window,
peers out. And—
--there’s Justin, on his knees in the shadows. Chris’ head is thrown back against the wall, a stream of
expletives coming thick and fast from his gasping mouth. Justin’s head is
pressed flush up against his stomach, moonlight blanching a faint sheen on
Chris’ skin.
Chris’ head, tipped up, is contorted, twisted in
pleasure—and JC, repulsed, feels his upper lip curl.
Chris’ eyes snap open, meet JC’s, widen.
JC snatches himself away, backs into the
opposite end of the room, hears Chris gasp out Justin’s name in a long, low,
groan.
And it’s over.
JC’s mind snidely reflects on Chris’ apparent
lack of stamina, because really, but he quickly snaps back, clenches his
fists, unclenches them, paces around the room, body strumming with disgust and
resentment, a little lust and—something he doesn’t want to admit because it’s
not envy. It isn’t.
…………………………………………………………………………
--fallout
JC wakes up. It’s Tuesday. He peers blearily at
his watch. It’s just after noon.
He stands up, feet on soft wood hot from the
morning sun. There’s dull nausea in the pit of his stomach. JC remembers last
night and grits his teeth.
He knows Chris rarely fucks the same person more
than once, hopes Chris’ll be far, faraway from Justin.
He yawns, stretches and breathes dry, dusty air
deep into his lungs, tang of burnt earth at the back of his throat. He pulls on
a pair of ragged jeans, doesn’t bother with a shirt. No one else seems to,
after all.
The warm wood bows under his feet as he walks
down the stairs and out onto the terrace.
Chris is nowhere to be seen.
JC spots Joey in the distance, calls him over.
“Hey Josh, what can I do for ya?” Joey asks,
smiling amiably. “You’ve not seen Chris have you?” JC asks, aiming for casual.
“The short guy? Naw, not recently. Saw him earlier though, with J. Think they
went off to the pool.”
“Oh, right, thanks.”
Joey slaps him on the back, grinning, “I guess
you must be relieved, huh? No more Justin followin’ you aroun’. Think he’s
moved on, thank the lord.” And JC smiles back, a hideously fake smile that
feels like it’s tearing the corners of his mouth, “Yeah, it’s—I’m—I’m very
relieved.” Joey nods, “I’ll bet. Well, see ya later, Josh. If I see ‘em I’ll
tell ‘em to come find ya.”
The moment his back is turned, JC’s lips slacken
to a dismayed gape.
----
All the way up the track JC finds himself
stopping and wanting to turn around. He braces himself and carries on, the sun
beating down on his back.
A couple of hundred metres away from the pool JC
can hear strained gasps and moans. He freezes. The noises quieten, stop. JC
kicks a rock off the path and keeps on walking.
He arrives at the pool, follows the curve
around, harsh chips of sunlight glancing off the water.
Chris and Justin. Sitting against a tree, Justin
in Chris’ lap. And they’re naked, slick skin splashed with water and
shade.
He shouldn’t be here, not at all. He feels his
chest contract.
He turns to go,
“Josh?”
JC can’t do it, can’t turn around—to see Justin
sated and glowing and smug, so he paces quickly away, mechanical, stiff
movements, back to the ranch, up to his room, collapses on his bed. He wants to
punch something. He doesn’t.
--
A sharp tap on the door wakes JC up. He ignores
it. There’s another knock.
“C? JC? I’m coming in—make sure you’re decent.”
JC sits up on the bed as Chris walks in.
“You alright, man? J said you—you, uh, saw us.
At the pool.” JC nods, and what the fuck? Chris is calling him ‘J’ now?
“So I was just coming to see—check that we’re cool. I was going to tell you,
but being as you weren’t up and whatever.”
“You were going to tell me what, exactly?” JC
says curtly, “that you screwed my ex?”
Chris snorts, “He’s hardly your ex, C.
You guys didn’t even do it, let alone date. He told me all about it—“
“Yes I know,” JC interjects shortly, “I heard.
Last night.” Chris’ face palls, “What?”
“Yeah, that’s right, I heard you talking,
amongst other things. Frustrated, am I?”
Chris stills, “What? I don’t know what you’re
talking about.”
“Don’t bullshit me Chris. I know your ‘lawyer’
face and I know what I heard last night. You were talking shit to Justin about
Tara and me. To Justin, of all people. Chris, you fucking know
better.”
Chris’ eyebrows raise, “What? Fine. Well it’s
true man, you’ve told me enough times that you’re fucking repressed or
whatever. What the hell is the big deal here?” He sighs, runs a hand through
his hair, and concedes, “Look I’m sorry about telling J that stuff, man, if
that’s what you’re worried about. But I figured the guy might appreciate an
explanation for your somewhat sudden rejection.”
“That’s not the issue here, Chris. You—you had
sex with Justin. On your first night here! After I’d told you
about him.”
“Yeah? And? C, you have absolutely no moral
footing here. You rejected him. You rejected him. Sorry,
but that’s the way it is. He came on to me and he’s fucking fine so I
just went with it. Figured you wouldn’t find out, or if you did you wouldn’t
give a damn, might even be thankful that he was off your case. What the
hell is your problem?”
JC purses his lips, stands up, flounders, what is
his problem? He glares at Chris, “You. You are my problem. The fact that
you just follow your dick around and—and don’t give a damn about other people.”
And he’s gesticulating wildly, Chris staring at him with irritated
bewilderment, “What?! Jesus fucking Christ, C, overreact much? Me and
J—we’re just fucking around. I know that, he knows that. You’re
acting like a jealous fucking wierdo. I’m sorry about what I said to J
about you and Tara, that was out of line I admit, but I am not fucking
apologising for having consenting sex with someone you have no legal, moral or
emotional ties to!”
JC knows he’s right. Wants to hit him for it,
spits, “Fuck off Chris, just fuck off. Fuck off back to your little slut of a
boyfriend. You two are just made for each other.”
Chris just gapes at him in shock, incredulity
high in his voice when he says, “JC, seriously, I think you have some issues
here. I’m going to pretend you didn’t just gratuitously insult me, and someone
you barely know, and say this: talk to Justin. Just, fucking, sort. it. out.”
And he leaves, turns back just as he’s about to walk through the door, “oh, by
the way, I’m leaving tomorrow, got called back to work on a new case. I won’t
be inflicting myself, or my dick, upon you much longer.”
JC slumps back on the bed, glares up at the
ceiling. He knows, rationally, that Chris is right. There’s just one little
question, burning bright red letters into the back of his brain: why does he
care so much?
JC grimaces, blanks his mind, decides it’s
definitely time to call Tara.
…………………………………………………………………………
--radiate
Chris leaves the next day, after JC has
apologised profusely.
He determinedly avoids Justin.
He speaks to Tara. After she’s lectured him
sufficiently on Why You Can’t Just Disappear Off To Tennessee, he arranges for
her to come and stay after the weekend.
That leaves five nights, four days until she
arrives.
Britney’s cooking a big meal for them all
tonight, over at Lance and Joey’s lodge. JC has agreed to go, if only because
he can’t be bothered to cook for himself.
When he gets there, Joey and Lance are sitting
on the porch, beers in hand, talking loudly about fetlocks or something. Lance
smiles when he sees JC approach, “Josh, glad you came, Brit’s makin’ apple
pie.” Joey nods appreciatively, “She makes one mean pie.”
JC smiles back. “Yeah?” he says and sits down on
the chair next to Lance, who passes him a beer. JC feels the perspiration from
the bottle trickle over his fingers, drags it across his brow.
He doesn’t really talk, mainly just listens to
the soft lilt of their voices and stares out across the shadowed buildings. He
wonders idly where Justin is.
After a while, just as the air is thinning into nighttime,
Britney calls them in and they go inside, into the gentle glow of dusty light
bulbs, and gather around the table. Britney walks in, smiling brightly, wearing
a small powder-pink apron dotted with little flowers. She gestures towards the
plates and dishes on the table, motions for them to start eating.
She glances around the table, swats something against her neck
with an oven-gloved hand. “Where’s J?” she asks, a slight crinkle between her
eyebrows. Lance looks at Joey, shrugs, “I dunno. I tol’ him earlier about you
cookin’.”
Britney looks questioningly at JC, who wishes he
didn’t feel in some way guilty, “You seen him, Josh?” JC shakes his head; hopes
she’ll stop looking at him with those big, puzzled brown eyes. He figures
Justin’s avoiding him. Probably beating off thinking about Chris, he
thinks bitterly.
“I should go an’ see where he is,” she says,
chewing her lower lip anxiously and wiping fidgeting hands down her apron, “he
can’t cook for crap. He’ll be all hungry.”
Lance and Joey laugh, and Britney meets their eyes and smiles
apologetically, “You know what he’s like.” She laughs a little, too, and walks
out, untying her apron with delicate fingers as she goes.
Lance and Joey share a ‘look’. Lance glances at
JC conspiratorially, “Young love. But what can ya do.”
“Though she’ll never admit it.” Joey mutters.
JC forces a smile.
Britney walks back in as Joey is listing all the
things he hates about termites. She wrinkles up her nose, cuffs Joey on the
back of the head, “Not at the table.” Lance laughs as Joey clutches the back of
his head.
“Did you fin’ the Mysterious One?” Lance asks.
Britney nods, “Yhea, I foun’ him. He’s in bed, busted his back doin’
heaven-knows-what.” Her eyes roll skyward.
Joey coughs, “But, uh, we’re still all takin’
this weekend off, right? ‘Cause I told my girl—” She nods, sits down, “Yhea, I
know, we all made arrangements, an’ we’re all still goin’. He should be
al’right by Friday. If not, well,” she cocks her head at JC, “looks like you’ll
have to do a bit of ranchin’, honey.”
“Why are you all leaving on Friday?” JC asks,
pauses his fork halfway up to his mouth. Lance looks over at him, “The last
weeken’ of every month we get to leave early, have the full weeken’ at home
with the family. That just so happens to be this weeken’. We’re all
bustin’ outta here the night after tomorrow.”
“Well, ‘cept Justin of course.” Joey adds
through a mouthful of bread.
JC nods.
A weekend alone with Justin… should be—at best uneventful, at worst
totally and appallingly awkward. JC secretly hopes Justin stays confined to his
bed.
“I’ll show you some of the basic stuff
tomorrow,” Lance offers, “I’m assumin’ you can muck-out a stable aw’right?
Good, OK, then I’ll show you the horses’ feed, equipment…manual stuff like that
that J might not be able to do. ‘ll give you a call about seven?”
“OK,” JC grins, “I’ll finally be able to make
myself useful around here.”
Britney looks over at him, “Honey, don’t feel
like you have to or nothin’, we got it covered, really.”
“Yeah, I know. I do. Just, it’s nice to do
something to help out.” She nods, “Eat up, now, there’s more to come.”
…………………………………………………………………………
--evolution
JC stumbles back to the main house feeling
relaxed and bloated. Really, really bloated. Disgustingly, painfully
bloated. Damn pie. He guesses this is what women must feel like at that time
of the month and feels an overwhelming sense of empathy for Tara and all
womankind, makes a mental note to be extra-nice to her next time she complains
about ‘women’s troubles’.
Halfway back, he stops, pauses in the cool air.
It’s a nice temperature tonight, not too hot or sticky, just cool, soft against
his skin.
JC can see the light on in Justin’s house,
figures he’s still awake and now’s a good a time as any to start making amends.
With Tara arriving soon, JC really doesn’t want her to pick up on any tension
between Justin and he, and decides to go over armed with a hot compress. Just
how dangerous can a sick person be, anyway?
He walks to his kitchen, guided by the fuzzy
light from the other lodges, gathers together some dishcloths and heats up some
dry rice, wraps it up in the cotton. He makes his way over to Justin’s before
he can think too much and talk himself out of it.
The bundle is warm in his hands, and heavy, and
a little of the rice spills out and scrambles in the gritty earth.
As he walks up Justin’s stairs, he can hear his own
heartbeat. It’s not much faster than usual, just louder. Pounding in his ears,
echoing his footsteps.
Tentatively, he calls out Justin’s name into the
shadowy hallway. He hears a pitiful groan in response, follows the noise to a
doorway at the end of the passage. He raps slowly on the half-open door, looks
down at the slice of light spilling out into the purpledark corridor. He waits
a few seconds and walks in.
Justin smiles self-piteously as JC enters. He’s
sitting in bed, propped up with pillows, the covers pooled around his waist.
He’s also shirtless, but he looks so totally miserable that JC can’t bring
himself to care.
Hovering by Justin’s bed he holds out his hand,
says, “I brought you a hot compress. For your back.” Justin looks up at him,
his lips parted into a delighted ‘oh’. JC feels a warm, fuzzy feeling settle in
the pit of his stomach, bites back a grin.
He steps awkwardly over to the bed, bends over
slightly, pauses, places a finger on Justin’s shoulder to edge him forward,
pauses, bites his lip.
Justin, looking askance at him, rolls his eyes,
“Aw Jesus--for gawd’s sake, Josh, I can bar’ly stand let alone fuck.
I think it’s fairly safe to touch me.” JC blinks, “I didn’t mean. Um.”
“Jus’ put the damn thing there.”
“Where does it hurt?”
“My lower back, put it there.”
JC grips Justin’s shoulder, eases him gently
forward, nestles the compress in the small of Justin’s back. Justin leans back,
sighs, “Mmm,” he smiles a little, “thanks.” And JC can’t stop the smile
spreading over his own lips when he replies, positively beaming, “Any time.” It
takes all the willpower he has to resist the urge to ruffle Justin’s hair or,
like, chuck his chin or something.
JC sits down in an armchair opposite the bed, at
a distance from which he won’t be able to pet him.
There’s a pause. JC can see Justin shift about
against the headboard, rises to offer help but Justin waves him away. After
he’s settled comfortably, he places his hands in his lap, stares down at them,
mumbles, “So—so you’re not mad at me?”
JC stares at the curves of shadow on Justin’s
face, somewhat taken aback by this new diffidence, “Why would I be?” Justin,
still not meeting JC’s eye, fidgets a little, “Well. Chris. I thought. He
said.”
“Oh,” JC stares at his own hands, “oh. That. I
was, maybe a bit.” JC looks up to meet round, pitiful blue eyes, “I just—I
heard you talking about me and. I was, like, a bit insulted and then you and
Chris. And it was a bit too soon and. I overreacted,” he fiddles with the hem
of his shirt, “I overreacted a lot. Chris explained that to me.”
There’s an awkward silence. JC tries to ignore
it by humming, making shapes out of the shadows on Justin’s walls.
“Owww, fuck!” JC snaps his head round to see
Justin trying to reach a glass of water by his bed. He gives up; slumps
dejectedly back into his pillows, mutters, “Fuckin’ stupid glass of water.” His
expression softens and he looks at JC imploringly.
JC, knowing Justin will never straight-out ask
him, is torn between taking advantage of this and pretending not to understand
and—oh, hell. He stands up, picks up the glass and hands it to Justin who gulps
the liquid down. JC pointedly ignores the crackling from where their fingers
brushed.
He sits down on the edge of the bed cautiously,
looks over at Justin’s faintly petulant expression, “There anything else you
need?” Silently he begs Justin not to
say sex.
“Well,” JC braces himself. Justin looks up at
him through his eyelashes, “a massage?” he asks hopefully. JC peers at Justin,
eyes narrowed, “OK,” he says slowly, “but, uh, you don’t think that might make
it worse?” Justin shakes his head, and one more look from those puppy-dog eyes
and JC knows he’s agreed.
“I guess you better, like, lie down,” JC says
carefully, “on your stomach.”
“Right.” Justin kicks the covers down and
cautiously slides onto his front. JC feels the mattress dip with his movement,
sees the compress slip down the gap between the bed and the headboard, hears
rice scatter onto the floor.
He looks away as Justin arranges the sheets over
his body, pointedly ignoring the fact that Justin is naked.
Once he has settled, JC falters for a second,
realizes something is missing, “Oil. I need oil.”
“There’s some lotion in the top drawer.” Justin
says, muffled into the sheets.
JC reaches over, pulls out the nightstand drawer
and peeks in. um.
Taking a deep breath, he reaches in, barely
looking as his fingers skim through foil sachets and…stuff. He plucks out a
little tube, feels the bed shake, glances over at Justin who’s laughing
helplessly. JC looks down at the tube in his hands, blushes deep red.
Justin, now trembling with laughter,
interspersed with squeaks of ‘ow’, grins, “Josh, this really ain’t the time.”
JC scowls at him, “Shut up,” he purses his lips, “it’s not my fault your drawer
is full of—sexual things. ”
“Sexual things?” Justin cackles loudly
and JC, scowling, drops the tube back in, fishes out a bottle of lotion,
resolutely not thinking about any of the things he's just found or their—uses.
He crawls over the bed, feeling it slope under
his weight, pauses, drags in a deep breath and straddles the backs of Justin’s
sheet-covered thighs. Taking great care to regulate his breathing, JC drizzles
a white puddle of the cool liquid into his palms, rubs them together to warm
it.
Smoothing his hands down the gentle curve of
Justin’s spine, he carefully tries to abstract himself from the situation, from
the feel of the warm body underneath him, tries to steady the quiver in his
fingers.
Justin sighs happily as JC rubs small circles
with his thumbs in the small of Justin’s back, gently kneading the tight coils
of muscle. Justin moans. JC presses his palms flat against soft skin, eases
them up and down Justin’s spine, fingers skimming over the hard ridges of bone.
He watches with fascination at the way Justin’s
muscles shift under his touch, the golden skin rippling and tensing and dancing
as though somehow separate from the rest of his body.
JC goes back to work rolling the heels of his
hands over the tight bunch of muscle at the base of Justin’s spine. “Justin?”
he asks softly, aware suddenly of how intimate the situation is, stilling his
movement.
There’s no response. JC feels Justin’s shoulders
rise and fall evenly, realizes he’s gone to sleep.
Deftly, he climbs off Justin, off the bed, tugs
the covers over Justin’s body. Putting the lotion on the nightstand, he allows
himself one long, indulgent look at the sleeping man-boy.
Beautiful. He looks beautiful. And young,
suddenly very, very young. JC tilts his head, realises that although Justin may
be wise in many ways, underneath it all he’s incredibly naïve,
incredibly…unworldly. Incredibly trusting, in an odd sort of way.
He wonders, for the first time, how Justin ended
up here and why he doesn’t go home at weekends. He feels almost painfully
protective of him. JC decides it’s probably just because Justin is hurt, and JC
considers himself a very empathetic guy.
Watching Justin’s breathing for a few beats, he
pads slowly over to the bed, wincing at the wood slats creaking under his
weight. He pauses over the sleeping lump that is Justin, reaches out a hand and
brushes it over his cheek. And he absolutely cannot stop himself, physically cannot,
from pressing a light kiss to Justin’s temple.
Justin stirs and JC freezes, jumps back. But he
merely shifts in the bed, pulls the covers closer. JC lets out a long breath,
creeps silently out of the room and out of the house.
…………………………………………………………………………
--mutation
A sharp tap on his door awakens JC. He feels
inexplicably calm this morning, refreshed. “Josh? You awake? I’ll wait for ya
outside.” Lance’s voice, muted through the wood.
He gets up, blinks, puts on clean underwear and
a pair of old jeans and shoes, picks up a t-shirt and hurries downstairs.
Lance leads him through the yard to the stables.
JC looks around, sees the crisp morning sun falling sharp and bright on the
land.
They reach the stable block and Lance shows him
around. It’s pretty much unchanged, as far as JC remembers, but now he has to
learn where things go and how they’re used. He sneezes a little, rubs his nose
when they walk into where the hay is stored, in a dark room thick with dust.
Then he’s shown the horses—there are six—and
tries to remember their names. There’s a beautiful palomino stallion, called
Morning Star, who’s Justin’s favourite, and a cranky grey mare called Carson
whom no one likes.
By mid-morning JC figures he’s pretty well
versed in all things equine. He heads back to the lodges, dusty and sweaty and
grinning.
Britney is hurrying around the side of the
lodge, her blonde hair tied back in a loose ponytail, a washing basket tucked
against her hip. She pauses as she sees JC approach, smiles, “Hey, Josh. Lance
show you the horses?”
JC walks over, “Yeah he did. Think I could
almost get used to life here. Might buy me a ranch of my own.” Britney laughs,
“You won’t be sayin’ that by Sunday, honey, trus’ me,” she rubs at some of the
dirt on her arm, flicks a bug off the back of her hand, grins wryly, “it ain’t
as glamorous as it seems, ya know.”
“And I brought a suit and all.” Britney swats at
his arm, “Well I gotta go pack ‘n stuff, wash this load o’ junk that our
domestic’ly inep’ farmboys can’t seem to,” she rolls her eyes, “I’ll see ya
later.”
JC retreats up to his room, takes a long shower,
can’t stop grinning because two days alone! And after last night JC feels that
something has changed, shifted, just a little, and definitely in a good way.
Maybe they can finally become friends! JC
ignores the rest of that train of thought.
It’s about five o’clock when he heads
downstairs, and finds a rickety old bus parked out front and Joey, Justin,
Lance, Britney and the others all bustling around, stuffing bags into the
trunk.
Joey comes over, slaps him on the back and pulls
him into an embrace, “Well I’ll see ya Sunday, Josh. Have a good weeken’. J’s
got my home number if anythin’ goes wrong, so don’ be afraid to call.” JC thanks him, hugs Lance and then finally
Britney, who whispers, “If J ever gives ya any grief, kick jus’ below the left
knee, works ev’ry time, I’m tellin’ ya,” She smiles, “I’m always right on the
other en’ of the phone if it gets too much. Take care, darlin’.”
JC watches with Justin as the retreating bus
hisses up great puffs of dust, feels anxious anticipation spark up his spine.
He shivers; two nights at the ranch alone with Justin, just them, miles from
anyone and anywhere, no escape.
Justin slings an arm around JC’s shoulders,
grins askance at him, “Jus’ you an’ me now, baby.”
JC peers intently down at his feet, can’t quite
bite back the smile.
………………………………………………………………………………………
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